


Telekinetic Psychology

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Dimension Travel, First Meetings, Getting Together, M/M, Parallel Universes, Roommates, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-26 10:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13856175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: They share the same apartment, they don’t know it. They live in different dimensions yet intersected in one point; it’s a big mystery for both of them as it should be.But Josh suspectssomething.





	Telekinetic Psychology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [searein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/searein/gifts).



Josh’s favorite mug is broken. Well, maybe it’s his _least favorite_ mug, because a chunk of his favorite one wouldn’t have gotten stuck in his foot, slicing his toe early in the morning. Josh hates his tableware as he hisses through his clenched teeth and trudges to the bathroom, smearing his red footprints across the ocher-colored floorboards. 

He cleans the deep cut, pondering of the way his now shattered mug with the logo of the game could appear in the living room.

He doesn’t remember drinking coffee there.

 

***

Josh lives alone, Josh sleeps alone, Josh cooks breakfast when it’s three in the afternoon; Josh talks to Mark over the phone and _‘yes buddy we’re watching basketball game this weekend, yes, grab some beer’._   Josh is not a fan of basketball, he’s a lightweight and Mark’s beer settles like an awful taste on his tongue.

But he likes Mark. Mark is a good friend.

A pack of Lucky Charms is empty even though Josh bought it just two days ago. It’s suspicious.

“Maybe you’re walking and eating in your sleep,” Mark says.

Josh shrugs.

“Maybe.”

His odd routine goes on.

He keeps losing his things.

They say, the walls have ears to overhear you, but Josh’s apartment has a soul then. It lives its own life — Josh opens the blinds only to find them closed again as soon as he scurries out of the bedroom; he begins to hear weird thuds coming from his pantry and literally spends an hour standing in front of the door with a frying pan in his hands since he doesn’t own a baseball bat.

“I’m _not_ going insane.”

Josh’s palm is sweaty as he touches the doorknob that vibrates full of the unknown energy. Inside, something falls. Josh swallows his fright and pulls up his pajama pants like a tough warrior; he throws the door open and turns the lights on, covering his head with his improvised shield but nobody attacks him.

There is the ironing board on the floor.

“It fell,” Josh puts the frying pan down. “It just fell.”

The scrape on his foot starts to bleed again, his sock is soaked crimson but he doesn’t notice. The ironing board couldn’t have fallen by itself — Josh hasn’t even unpacked it, but now it looks like it’s been already used by someone. It’s still warm.

Maybe Josh is a lonely guy, but he doesn’t live _alone_.

 

***

“I’m calling the police, do you hear me?!”

Yes, Josh talks to his apartment, and no, he doesn’t get an answer.

“Where are you? Stop hiding from me!”

Josh is pathetic, his bathroom is gonna make fun of him. Here’s a tuft of hair in his hand, a few others fill the sink. Josh is only planning on getting a mohawk and then maybe dye it green or blue or red. But _these_ strands are less curly than his own, the shade it lighter than his natural color.

And Josh’s night guest has played a hairdresser.

“Where are you?”

Josh runs across the hall, stumbling over his bags and clothes; he _couldn’t_ leave them scattered there in ugly piles. He is about to pull his own hair until he goes bald.

“Dang it, dang it, dang it!”

He storms out of the door with a heavy heart.

 

***

Ouija board doesn’t help him.

Josh feels dumb sitting on the carpet cross-legged with his hands on a small pick that is motionless while he’s asking the questions. The spirit doesn’t give him any _yes_ or _no_ because Josh is not a certified psychic.

“Okay,” Josh lays the board aside. “You’re not the most communicative person.”

This night, the blinds slide shut again; the cord moves by itself, Josh hears the rustling and curls tighter into himself. It’s like a scene from _The Others_ movie but Josh is nothing like Nicole Kidman’s character.

He just lets the blinds close their eyes before closing his own.

He’s paralyzed when he understands he’s not alone in the bed, back to back with a creature that is ominously cold. Josh quietly rolls forward to avoid a contact, feeling the mattress shift.

“Hey?”

Josh regrets watching the _Bedfellows*_ short horror movie.

When he gets the courage up to poke the body beside him, there’s an empty space. Josh sits up, checking a crumpled pillowcase and palm-shaped wrinkles on the bedsheets. He opens the blinds; he falls asleep with the reading lamp shimmering on the chair next to his bed and with a prayer on his lips.

 

***

Mark’s advice of making salt circles is nonsense — strange things get even stranger after that; salty lines in front of each door are decorated with vague _footprints_. Then, the lines disappear.

Josh’s planning to move out as soon as he finds an apartment that’s not _this_ haunted. He even thinks he’s got telekinetic powers as he spots a glass of water gliding across the table — Josh believes he can do it, so he focuses real hard on stopping it.

“Come on,” Josh balls his fists up. “Stop.”

The glass reaches the edge, spilling the water all over Josh’s green-black shorts so he can only let out a growl of frustration.

Telekinetic psychology is hoax.

 

***

When Josh plays the trumpet, he is his own marching band consisting of a single member. There’s no audience — his invisible roommate gets replaced with a heavy loneliness. Josh almost misses them, almost. Maybe they hate _Titanic_ theme song. Or this movie. Or Josh. He can even take the shower without being spied on.

“They’re gone,” he tells Mark during their meet-up in the bar.

“Good. Are you satisfied?”

Mark has a foamy mustache above his upper lip.

Josh’s hand tremor sends ripples through his beer.

“Sure.”

His chest is as hollow as his apartment.

 

***

 _It’s just an experiment_ , Josh repeats mentally, locking up his trumpet in a case. Maybe it’s the power of his music, or maybe his _poltergeist_ is into a different kind of instruments.

Josh goes to bed, ready to fight the naughty blinds and hearing the monotonous humming of TV in the living room. Josh almost hopes that somebody’s going to turn it off.

But it doesn’t happen.

Josh is upset.

He’s upset as he calls Mark, leaving a voicemail _‘I did it.’_

He’s casted the ghost out or his trumpet has.

Josh’s noisy neighbor doesn’t come back when his trumpet is silent — he needs to check it and he needs it _now,_ taking his joggers on and running to the pantry door to dot the _I’s_. Josh’s breathing is all sporadic as he steps into a dark rectangle of a doorframe and blindly reaches for the case; once he grabs it, he lets out a gasp of amazement: its form is different.

Then, he realizes it’s not a case, it’s a new instrument itself.

Josh flips the light switch, blinking at the _ukulele_ in his hands.

“No way,” he exhales. “No way.”

This mystery has not been solved, Josh’s tangled in his assumptions as he strums the strings lightly; it’s a foreign sensation, the sound is soft and kind of sad as if this poor instrument misses its owner.

One more charade.

A bout of dizziness replaces the ceiling with the floor and Josh leans against the wall to fixate himself upright. There are dismal chords, the lights laugh and flicker before dying into blackness.

On the brink of passing out, Josh feels like one of those lights.

 

***

It’s not a long blackout but waking up is like being placed in orbit without a space suit.

“Hey?”

Josh’s fingers are still curled around the neck of the ukulele, which means it’s not a dream.

“Hey?”

The light bulbs are shining brighter than ever, pouring iridescent rays all over the person towering over Josh.

“Who are you?”

Josh has the same question sitting on his tongue.

“It-it’s me?”

The first thing he sees as his vision adjusts to the glowing is his trumpet case beside him — Josh still hasn’t rolled out of the pantry. Then, there’s a curious guy with a rather scornful look on his face. He leans closer to Josh, bending over and almost sticking his fingers into Josh’s half-lidded eyes.

“What are you doing in _my_ apartment?”

Josh isn’t sure which answer is a correct one.

“Heck,” he says.

The source of his troubles is definitely not a phantom.

It takes one quick glance for Josh to understand whose hair he has found in his bathroom earlier — same color, same texture, he’s certain. Josh is also certain that this angry creep would knock him out for touching his almost bald head, but Josh is right, _he’s not crazy._

Their conversation is as bizarre as their meeting.

“Do you know what I’m doing to people who invade my personal space?”

“Do you kill them?”

“I ignore them.”

He sounds so childishly proud.

“What’s your name?”

The guy winces as he speaks.

“Tyler.”

Josh makes a note not to make a fool out of himself again.

“I’m Josh. Have you… Have you found my trumpet?”

“Have you _stolen_ my ukulele?”

Their priorities are different.

“No,” Josh raises his hands. “Gosh, no!”

A low ‘uh-huh’ is the only response he gets from Tyler before he cradles his ukulele to his chest, gets up and says —

“Go home, Josh.”

It’s hard to go home when you’re already home trying to piece yourself together.

“It’s _my_ apartment,” Josh calls for Tyler’s sanity.

“I can lock you up here while the police is on its way…”

Josh is shirtless and chilly air says hello to his back, a creaky floor is cold under his ass and his trumpet plays the role of an axe of war.

“How could you not notice?” Josh is hopeless. “All of this. I mean, I… I didn’t know it was you. But you’ve been here, with me, all the time.”

Tyler stops with his thumb clamped between his teeth.

“What?”

Josh takes the last chance.

“You and me… We’ve been living together for a while?”

It’s like talking to someone who’s suffering from a memory loss.

“You have a tattoo,” Tyler crouches down, his ukulele is still in his hand. “Dang it, why do we have matching tattoos, man?!”

This is the most notable emotion Josh can read on Tyler’s face; Tyler’s fingers are about to tear Josh’s curls off as he forces him to duck his head.

“Unbelievable.”

Tyler’s nails scratch the black X behind Josh’s ear.

And Tyler’s rolling up the sleeve of his shirt with pineapple print to show him the same symbol. A mark on Tyler’s bicep looks a bit faded on his tanned skin; Josh traces its outline with his finger to make sure it’s real.

“Where did you get it?”

Josh feels like he might die if he doesn’t get the truth.

Tyler gets calmer after a couple of deep breath.

“My friend wanted me to try something new. So we went to a tattoo-parlor and he…”

“Mark?” Josh shivers.

Tyler nods.

“Yes. Do you know him? Well. He said that it’d be a…”

“…a cool sign for the beginning of the new life. You’ve just moved out of your parents’ house, right?”

Tyler gazes at him in disbelief.

“Are you a stalker?”

“No,” Josh chuckles. “But we’re in the same boat.”

“I have three younger siblings,” Tyler says. “Sometimes there are too many people around me.”

“You’re telling me!”

Josh isn’t surprised that even the amount of their siblings is exactly the same.

“Well,” Tyler’s smile softens his facial traits. “At least we have one mutual friend.”

In Josh’s world, Mark was his roommate; both of them dropped out of college but their friendship survived those hard times. But Josh wants to hear Tyler’s version.

“How did you meet Mark?”

“He was my partner during my college project,” Tyler replies. “We made a video about cyber-bulling. It even got shown at schools, you know.”

Josh gets struck by these news — he and Mark have never had a friend named Tyler. But it doesn’t take much time to prove that the video called _What’s your story?_ truly exists; Tyler stares at the floor while Josh gets sucked in by an offbeat poetry.

Tyler is a great narrator.

And Mark turns out to be a great cameraman.

 

***

“I thought you were a ghost.”

“I thought you were… a side-effect of my meds.”

A cup of chamomile tea doesn’t heal Josh’s nerves.

“Meds?”

“Yeah. I had a migraine-month and somebody was opening the blinds all the time.”

Josh snorts at his reflection in a tea-mirror.

“Sorry. You broke my Rocket League mug.”

“It was my mug,” Tyler pipes up. “I won it.”

Josh’s leg jerks up and down reflexively. _He_ won it, he got it in the mail.

“Whatever, dude. You dropped my ironing board.”

“You misplaced the keys and I was late for work.”

“I almost died when I felt you in my bed.”

“Same.”

Josh gives Tyler a questioning glance and he quickly adds —

“Overdose causes hallucinations. My ukulele is my armor.”

Josh doesn’t want to be anyone’s overdose; he’s cowardly avoiding depressing themes.

“We need to know what else changed then.”

“Good idea,” Tyler perks up immediately, finishing his tea with a large gulp.

They re-discover _their_ apartment; there are two shaving razors in the bathroom, two toothbrushes and different shower gels. Josh covers his nose with his palm.

“Oh no,” he points at the shampoo bottle. “I’m allergic to coconuts.”

He gets itchy even when he sees this advertisement on TV.

“Nice. I’m gonna write a song about coconut _sharks_ ,” Tyler removes the bottle from the shelf. “I’m allergic to bananas, by the way.”

Josh is here to maintain him.

“I hate bananas.”

This is the first time they actually shake hands.

Then, they go towards the wardrobe that is a foreign land; Tyler owns multiple windcheaters, some of them match Josh’s; their socks and underwear are piled into one drawer.

“What kind of relationship do we have?” Josh wonders.

Tyler sighs at the sight of their mixed clothing.

“I hope you’re a trustworthy person.”

But here’s a thing that has been bothering Josh since they explored the rooms for the first time.

“Dude,” he starts carefully. “It seems that we sleep together.”

Tyler closes the wardrobe.

“Why?”

“There’s only one bed.”

“So what? You can sleep on the couch or —”

“No,” Josh says firmly. “I’m living here, dude. I’m paying my bills and stuff, I fixed a leaky faucet in the kitchen and you’ve just appeared out of nowhere.”

Tyler clears his throat.

“Excuse me, but _you_ appeared right in my pantry with my ukulele in your hands!”

“We need to solve this problem!”

“You’re… You’re right, Josh.”

They’re calling a truce, but at least, Josh isn’t going to get murdered today.

 

***

The day comes to an end and neither of them wants to spend the night on the couch. They locate in the bedroom, lying in bed with their eyes wide open, the ceiling is about to sneer at their awkwardness. It’s quiet in the room, but Tyler’s voice ruins the almost-intimacy.

“Are you snoring in your sleep?”

“No.”

“Cool. Me neither.”

Tyler turns away, dragging Josh’s blanket with him.

Josh is afraid he might wake up alone.

His sleep is dreamless.

Next morning, Josh thinks they’re friends enough to keep asking his _innocent_ questions.

“Why do you wear slippers with socks?”

His life takes a weird turn so he can get a bit risky.

Tyler cocks his head.

“Why do you care?”

“Because. You’re so unfriendly, how do you interact with people? Still single, well, you’re living with me now, _wait…_ Wait, are you a virgin?”

Josh’s risk is worth Tyler’s extremely pissed off grimace.

“Wanna help me out?”

“Maybe,” Josh chortles. “Later.”

 

***

Josh calls Mark with the most polite _‘what the eff?’_

“I’m a dimension traveler,” Mark huffs out into the speaker.

Josh rolls his eyes.

“Show off, dude.”

“You couldn’t find a partner in your reality, so I brought you two together, isn’t it perfect?” Mark pauses. “Dude. I don’t even remember you living _without_ Tyler.”

It hits Josh like a hammer.

“What do you mean?”

“You are lovely.”

And, before Josh can deny this statement, Mark says —

“I gotta go.”

They definitely need one more meeting at the bar to clarify some things.

 

***

Josh finds their framed photos; they find themselves tagged as _Joshler_ on their friends’ Instagram posts. Their parents claim they moved into this apartment a year ago.

“They think we’re just friends,” Tyler scratches the back of his head. “Good.”

Josh scrolls through his Twitter notifications, admitting that his old-new life is more interesting than his previous one. Sharing a bed with Tyler doesn’t scare the daylights out of him anymore — he’s learned the lesson. Feeling a warm body next to him is less creepy than feeling an ephemeral substance under the covers.

 Josh is relatively happy.

“Do you think Mark might be an actual guardian?”

“It’s his style.”

Josh uses Google and reads the articles trying to dig up a decent explanation just like agent Mulder would. They could’ve been living in parallel universes that were crossed in Josh’s pantry or in Tyler’s — it doesn’t matter. Here was a gap between their paper-thin worlds that has made them collide into each other. They could impact each other’s lives staying as invisible as shadow people; and Mark, that nice guy Mark was the only chain that was tying them together. Matching tattoos have casted the spell, their instruments created a perfect duo.

They’ve just merged together.

It’s sad, but Josh’s memories about his Tylerless life are getting slowly erased. Tyler doesn’t seem to care about it, drinking his Red Bull — their common passion. They have similar food preferences, too. The luck is illogical, but they’re moving forward step by step; Josh feels like he’s won the lottery when Tyler doesn’t squirm in his hug as they lie in the bed.

“It’s crazy,” Tyler whispers.

“We don’t have to rush,” Josh whispers back.

They drift off to sleep like this.

A new day would bring new struggles.

But they’re gonna match their own expectations.

**Author's Note:**

> hbd, Rein.  
> thanks for downloading THAT song for me~  
> \---  
> * [ Bedfellows](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0z6xGU2_g9s)


End file.
